


Tear Me Down

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:46:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of a case gone wrong—and how Dean and Cas heal from it.</p>
<p>  <i>Cas turned over and forced their mouths together. Dean responded with a sound of surprise, a hiss when Cas bit down on his bottom lip. Cas laid siege to his mouth with his tongue, stabbing his way inside. The passion, the heat between their bodies—hungry, insatiable.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Tear Me Down

His fingers traced a careful line down his back, slow and feather-light across fingernail cuts and bruises. Half asleep, Dean shrank away from the touch and hid his face in his pillow. The smell of cheap detergent and scratchy fabric reminded him that they had ended up in another shitty motel between here and nowhere—the end point to a case gone horribly wrong. So wrong that everything else seemed meaningless. Even caustic.

A kiss on his shoulder corroded his skin, the nip against his ear a sting. His breath was hot on his neck, a shallow puff of _I want you_ burning letters into his flesh—nothing could get their screams out of his head. Not even the familiar rush of body heat, searing his backside; the big spoon to his small one. Protective. Sheltering. 

Irritating.

Teeth pinched the shell of his ear. Dean let out a sharp sigh and jerked his shoulder back in an attempt to push him away. He didn’t budge. The hard, burning erection flush against his ass had no time for his grief or aggravation.

Dean threw a glare over his shoulder. Their eyes met.

“Cas,” he hissed. “I’m not in the mood.”

It was as if he’d fallen all over again. The quiet heartbreak in his blue eyes spoke volumes. The way Cas flopped back onto the mattress—carelessly and with a sigh—betrayed his frustration. Dean didn’t care. He rolled his eyes and nestled his face in the crook of his arm. Instead of finding sleep, a horrific movie played on the back of his eyelids; two boys slashed to pieces, their cries for help the soundtrack in his brain.

The taste in his mouth was a mixture of whiskey and guilt.

He took a deep breath and eased it out of his nose. He sought solace in anything—the steady hum of cars on the highway, the white noise of human life—yet found none. The A/C shuddered to life and rattled against the wall, loud and obnoxious. A husband and wife argued outside the motel window. A child began to cry. All of the noises rose to a crescendo, pounding against his brain.

From the chaos, a needy groan broke through.

It came from behind him: the gut-deep roll of thunder, breaking on sex and innocence. So rich and so fucked up on bliss that the heavy, breathless notes went straight to his dick. The A/C choked out a premature death and opened his world to the sound of hard, wet cock sipping between fingers. Fast, erratic, sweetened with soft whimpers and quiet groans.

Dean turned his head. Out of his peripheral, the hard pump of an arm, muscles rippling under the effort—Cas was jerking off, if not only to relieve himself, but to spite him, too. Another groan ripped out of his throat, deep and dark like burnt-amber whiskey. Gooseflesh bubbled up on his skin and his dick jerked. He didn’t need to touch it to know it was already wet.

His grief and aggravation could wait. 

Slowly, he turned over. Cas had his eyes closed, the bottom of his lip tucked under his teeth. Perspiration clung to him like a second skin, his hard cock glistening with an overabundance of lube. Cas dragged his fingers over the shaft long and slow, sweeping a thumb over the head. A few rapid strokes, enough to pull out a groan, then back to the slow, steady rhythm. Like he was putting on a show, tempting him to touch. All he wanted to do was suck him dry, fuck him until he couldn’t breathe. But watching him like this—fucking himself, breathless—short-circuited his brain. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. He just _wanted_.

Cas ran a hand down his own chest and pinched a nipple. His heavy groan teased his dick, sent his blood pumping, his heart pounding. An ache began low in his balls. Cas’ fingers continued working his cock; long and slender with graceful strokes that were agonizingly slow. So slow that Dean wanted— _needed_ —to grab him, help him along, to speed up the dirtiest porn he’d ever seen. It took all of his willpower to keep his hands to himself, to palm his own dick instead and rub easy circles as Cas bucked up into his fist over and over. When Cas let out a groan, loud and filthy, Dean yanked on his dick, once, twice, _hard_ , biting back a noise of his own. Another pull when Cas let out a breathless moan. Harder when Cas whispered his name. He’d become lost in his own pulling and tugging, watching Cas chase the fuck of his life—his thigh muscles strained with it, his arm hammering out an up-tempo.

The pace shifted from a slow-burn tease to _fuck me now_.

The flushed head of Cas' cock bobbed up over the tops of his curled fingers and back in again, almost too quick to see. Unable to stop himself, Dean spat into his own hand and made a fist, sliding it over his dick inch-by-inch. Faster just to keep up with him. He let out a shallow groan of his own, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. Dean couldn’t miss a fallen angel fucking himself. Not for the end of the world.

As Cas worked himself furiously, so did Dean. Tugging on his dick hard, cutting the quiet room with his groans. The undulating rise and fall of those angled hipbones orchestrated their beat. The sweet noises in the back of his throat their music. Cas was so close he could smell it—and then he stopped. Cas let himself go.

“Come on, Cas," Dean groaned out. "Don’t stop. Show me how you like it.”

A growl was his only warning.

Cas turned over and forced their mouths together. Dean responded with a sound of surprise, a hiss when Cas bit down on his bottom lip. Cas laid siege to his mouth with his tongue, stabbing his way inside. The passion, the heat between their bodies—hungry, _insatiable_. Dean could have come right there. Cas saved him by ripping his hand away from his dick—

“I want you to touch me _now_.”

—and putting it on his own. Thick and hard, it was like hot iron, molded to the crease of his palm, to the shape of his fingers. He was convinced it was always meant to fit in his hands, that Cas was always meant to fall apart under his touch—and he did. With every slow, downward stoke, Cas lost more of his self-control, fucking into it with a jittery Morse code of thrusting hips and shallow groans. Every whisper of sound, every moan, every strangled breath unthreaded him, ripping Dean from the inside out. He caved beneath Cas' lips, became a slave to their slow, searching kiss. He couldn't breathe. He didn't want to. He'd die willingly to the scorching heat of Cas' passion—passion that soon bled out to the razor blade of his _need_.

A jerk-pull at Dean's hip swallowed the open space between their bodies. Where one began and the other ended, he didn't know, so caught up in _Cas_ and soft skin that it was difficult to tell which part of the world was up or down. He only knew was incredible heat, the hard length of Cas' cock against his thigh—and when Cas rolled his hips...

Dean dropped his mouth open, his head falling back in pure bliss—the mind-numbing blur as their cocks slid against one another... _fuck_. Cas panted against his collarbone and Dean lifted his hand up, twisting his fingers in dark hair. Together, they moved as one, riding the rhythmic give and take, reveling in the push and pull of hips. Fuck if he wasn't going to explode right then and there.

Then, Cas grabbed their lengths and...

The sound that came out of him wasn't something he recognized. It belonged to a stranger, someone who _needed_ something more than just a simple fuck, more than just a few touches. It was raw and unguarded, naked and vulnerable. Something of a groan, but more like a fragile whimper; the sound of a man on the very cusp of surrender and worship. If Cas had heard it, he would've slowed down, treated him like delicate china. But he didn't. Cas slid his hand over their lengths as if he were trying to win some race; the fastest, most desperate fuck ever, maybe. Something to do before they headed out of town, on the road again to meet up with Sam in Wisconsin. To forget the fucked up case they'd just solved—and completely failed. Trading screams for the warmth of touch; blood for the hot spread of skin over skin. Simple. Easy.

Dean needed easy. 

One stroke, two—Cas' fingers nimble down their shafts, hand wet and hot. Tighter than anything he'd felt. Dean stopped thinking and grabbed Cas' face, pulling him in to drown _everything else_ in their kiss—a hard kiss that was more bruising than affectionate, more punishing than forgiving. Cas let out a little sound of discomfort and his hand became a vice around their cocks. Dean nearly lost it. The need for release welled up inside him—he killed it with the screams in his head.

Cas delivered him from hell with the nibble of teeth against the shell of his ear. Dean leaned into it, sliding his hand down Cas’ cock, jerking it quicker, harder. Then slow, tight. Cas tilted his head back, throat exposed, and Dean chased soft skin, heady with the roll of a groan beneath his lips. His noises—breathless whimpers and panting—made Dean suck in a breath and let out a choked-off growl of his own. Needing Cas now, he couldn't take the teasing anymore. He wanted this—he needed escape.

He took possession, a quick grab and forceful pull, rolling Cas on top of him. They kissed for what seemed like an eternity, locked together by lips, forged by the blaze of their mutual need. Then Cas began to rock slowly, tilting his hips, pushing them into him with a force that stole his breath away. Dean searched blindly for skin and grazed his sides with wandering hands. Framing his hips with the bite of fingers. Cas kicked his head back with a moan, a sound ragged-dark on the edge of delirium. Maybe it was the pain that had set him off; a chance to pay penance for his sins, for not shooting when he should have. His hesitation... they lost everything.

They'd lost everything because of _him_. 

The truth hit him blind, like a punch to the face. It'd been a mistake. A moment of uncertainty that had killed those boys. If Cas had just... 

Dean lifted his hand from Cas' hip, fought against the needy ache in his balls, this... incredible rise of something powerful in his body. It didn't matter how hard Cas' thrusts had become, their cocks sliding together with enough friction to blow his mind. It didn't matter how... perfect this felt to him, all neat and tidy, simple and beautiful. Among roaming hands and whispered breaths, Dean crashed his hand down on Cas' ass, the sharp bite of punishment jerking Cas ram-rod straight. His expression—pinched tight, wide-eyed and mouth open. The strangled yelp got him off, struck him like a lightning bolt. Dean let out a soft groan. Cas' eyes glittered blue-black in the shoddy motel light.

They stood on the opposing sides of a war.

"Hurt me," Cas whispered in surrender. " _Please_."

_Punish me._

_Break me._

Dean hesitated. A moment of uncertainty. This time, it didn't cost them two innocent lives. A monster didn't rip apart two boys and leave them in pieces. No one screamed. It was just him—and Cas, shifting and wiggling on top of his body, just to get it right. The head of his cock grazed Cas' hole, almost breaching, but not quite. The excitement encouraged him to rain down another slap on tender skin. The sound of it startled the A/C unit in the room and it sputtered on, swallowing down Cas' painful cry. Cas didn't stop and used the pain to fuel those devilish hips, grinding down on his cock to the point that Dean swore he was going to break into a million pieces.

Another slap, another—violence turning soft and gentle. Dean whispered an apology against his jaw, soothed his bruised skin by cupping it gently, sweetly. Lovingly. Cas smiled against his neck and slowly, purposefully, wiggled his hips down, lifting them up just so. His dick traced a line between Cas 'cheeks, over his hole, to his balls. Dean clenched his jaw in frustration, strangled a groan at the back of his throat. He'd grown impatient, but it was the slow and gentle grind of their hips that healed his aches and pains; erased the cries for help and the screaming in his head. Leaving nothing but the sensuous rhythm of their bodies, easy and simple.

Easy and simple, too, was how he sunk deep into Cas' body, every hot inch spreading just for him. Dean tried to touch him, grabbed him anywhere. Cas grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the mattress, over his head. They kissed. _Please_ blurred between their hard-pressed lips. They fucked each other hard and fast. Above him, Cas took control, punishing himself on his cock, fucking himself blind. Dean could only writhe on the bed in pure, fucked-out bliss as Cas rolled his hips back over and over; the length of his dick sliding in and out of him, hot and wet. He fucked Cas with every ounce of his body, until his throat ran dry from groaning, until his muscles burned with the ache. Until it was forgiveness that stitched them back together.

And when he let go, when it—

His body shuddered and it gutted him with a white-hot knife that left him mutilated and torn. Warmth spread and filled his empty spaces, healed him in a way nothing else could. Shaped against him, bones turned liquid, Cas took in heaving breaths, painting his skin with brush strokes of satisfaction. Dean twisted fingers into his dark hair. Cas smiled into his neck. They held each other until the light of morning, where screams couldn't haunt them.


End file.
